


the next bold move

by abvj



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abvj/pseuds/abvj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The one with the first time.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the next bold move

Lizzie has a small line of freckles right in the hollow of her collarbone and Will traces them with the tip of his index finger, counts them one by one before moving to follow along the bone itself. She shifts, and they disappear into the shadow, her skin fading from pink to gray in the absence of light. She’s quiet, and the stillness of her silence unnerves him, sets him on edge just slightly, but Will moves through it. Presses his mouth against her shoulder, allows his lips to turn at the way her body shifts into him in response, on reflex. 

He moves, situating his body until it is mostly covering hers, his mouth skimming along the line of her neck, her jaw, the corner of her mouth. Lizzie hums quietly, the sound sinking into his skin, lingering, settling deep. Her palms run along the length of his back, fingers tracing the line of his spine up and up until they tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. Will pulls back, reaches a hand to smooth against her face, to tangle in her hair. He smiles. She smiles. They laugh on cue. 

They’ve been doing this a lot lately – cracking whenever they get close enough to touch. Will chalks it up to nerves. 

“Hi.” 

Her mouth spreads into a shy smile. Her ears tint pink. Will finds it hard not to find it endearing. 

“Hi.” 

The hand that had been tangled in her hair travels down, pads of his finger tips following the long line of her throat, the curve of her side, the smooth skin of her bare legs. “You must be hungry,” he mumbles, although he’s not really paying attention to what he’s saying. Her skin is smooth and warm and she’s in his bed, wearing his too-big t-shirt and nothing but underwear underneath. She must have changed out of her dress while he slept. He hears his heart pounding in his head. Sees nothing but the way Lizzie smiles at him, bottom lip between her teeth. “Would you like to go make something?” 

Shaking her head, she moves her hand to shift under his shirt, palm flattening against his skin. 

“No.” 

“Good,” he grins. Then, “You’re wearing my shirt,” he points out after a moment he adds needlessly, “in my bed.” 

It’s too big for her. She is practically swimming in it, one shoulder slipping out of the neck, but he likes it. He can see himself getting used to it. It is not an unpleasant thought. 

“Yes.” Pausing, Lizzie considers him for a moment. With a raised eyebrow she asks, “Do you mind?” 

Before, with other women, he had. It had been a chore to pretend he found it enticing. He likes his things arranged just so. He’s never been very good at sharing, and the intimacy the situation called for made him nervous. With her, it’s different. He wonders if he should tell her that, share this part of himself. Probably not, he decides, not now, and instead focuses on tugging at the hem of the shirt once or twice before shifting the fabric upwards. He closes his eyes, memorizes the feel of her, the lines of muscle and bone, the slight softness at her hips. 

Lizzie has excellent legs – more so than he ever let himself think before. 

“Not at all,” he murmurs just before kissing her again. 

 

 

 

It’s an important thing to note, Will thinks, that last night had been their first official date. 

If, of course, you don’t count the coffee meetings and lunch dates and excuses to stay late over takeout in his office under the guise of discussing this project or that business matter. Will does count those. Will counts those very seriously, but he’s not sure that she does, so he doesn’t bring it up. 

It hadn’t gone exactly as he’d planned – their date. This is another thing he feels the need to note. Instead of the romantic evening he had organized and arranged, they got a bar, Gigi and Fitz, and copious amount of alcohol. He doesn’t remember much outside of the twenty minutes he spent pouting in the corner of the booth until Lizzie called him on it, dragging him out of his mood and demanding him to _try_ and have fun. There was dancing, he thinks. Laughter. That smile of hers that threatens to undo him every time. 

Regrettably, a decent portion of the night is a blur, and he blames this entirely on Fitz and the Four Horseman challenge Will definitely, _definitely_ should have refused. 

Will does, however, remember with certain clarity the taxi ride home when she’d kissed him the way he had only ever dreamed of her kissing him before – hard, bruising, full with every bit the want and need he felt thrumming under his skin. Will remembers with absolute clarity the way she’d looked at him with both pride and uncertain fear as she murmured _take me home with you_ just loud enough for him to hear. He remembers the taxi driver clearing his throat awkwardly just as Will’s hands had started inching its way up Lizzie’s skirt and between her legs. He remembers laughing and apologizing and being too drunk to feel ashamed of wanting her so much. He remembers telling her how much he wanted her, and her saying much of the same. 

And he had, obviously, taken her home with him. She had asked and who was he to refuse? 

Will had kissed her on the porch as he searched for the keys, and again just inside when he clicked the lock into place behind them. They’d stumbled up the stairs, fumbled their way down the long hallway to his room. They fell on to the bed a tangled mess of limbs and sighs and Will certainly remembers sobering quickly sometime after that, sometime after he got a good look at the sight of her red hair and dark colored dress against the crisp white cotton of his sheets. He certainly remembers thinking about how he didn’t want her like that – with the alcohol clouding their judgment and threatening to steal their memories – and telling her too. 

Lizzie had laughed then, much too loudly, and pushed herself upwards on the heels of her hands so she could kiss him. 

“You are too much of a gentleman, William Darcy,” she had said, grinning up at him, but agreed nonetheless. 

Will decided they were much too pragmatic for their own good when he woke this morning before the sun, still fully clothed with her somehow in nothing but his shirt curled alongside him. 

 

 

 

The more Will kisses her, the messier his mouth becomes as it slicks over hers, the more desperate his hands are as they smooth along the long, languid lines of her. Lizzie lets him roll over her, carries the full weight of him, and her mouth is inviting and warm, needy as it works against his. He’s suddenly very, very glad they had enough insight to brush their teeth before falling asleep just a few hours before. There is still a faint sense of morning breath between them, but it’s ignored easily, and Will has a hard time focusing on anything outside of the way she fits against him. 

Lizzie does this thing where she kisses him and then retreats, a tease of sorts, and he knows it’s coming after the first couple of times, but he still falls for it, still chases her mouth every time. 

He wants more. 

He is constantly wanting more. 

Will is starting to give up on the idea that this will ever change. 

 

 

 

Her hands tangle in his hair, pulling and tugging until he knows it’s standing every which way but right. Will knows this about her now – that she likes to mess him up, prefers him with his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened or bowtie undone. He should find it infuriating. He doesn’t, and instead smiles against her mouth, reaches up to catch her hands, fingers tangling and squeezing before letting go. When they return to her, they go straight to her hips, thumbs dragging over the bone, flattening against the curve. His hold on her tightens then releases, his touch drifting between her thighs. She’s wet already, the cotton of her underwear damp to the touch and Will groans low in his throat, kisses her harder, deeper, feels her nails dig into the skin at his shoulders. 

When they pull away, he’s all but gasping for breath, but Lizzie continues chasing him, teeth nipping at his bottom lip. “I think we need to fix this clothing discrepancy,” she says, very seriously, and Will might have laughed if he weren’t too busy trying to hold it together. 

Instead, his hips jerk embarrassingly when her hands reach for the button his jeans, fumbling with the zipper just before moving to tug on the hem of his shirt. _Off,_ he thinks he hears her say, and even though the loss of warmth is immediate, he moves away from her, slides his shirt off and then struggles with his pants for a minute before returning to her. It is unforgettable, he thinks, seeing her sprawled out on his bed with her messy hair and swollen lips. There is a fullness in his chest as he looks at her, something that constricts and then releases only to constrict all over again, and he can’t help it, he stares. Makes a memory. Memorizes all the edges and curves of her. 

It makes her nervous – Will can tell by the way her fingers start to pull at the edge of the shirt, the way she presses her knees together. He smiles softly, tries to make it seem reassuring. He’s not quite sure if he succeeds or not, so he tries words instead. 

“You are so pretty, Lizzie Bennet,” he tells her. “Do you even realize how pretty you are?” 

The emotions flicker across her face, and Will watches and categorizes every one, falls in love with the way her mouth twists slowly. Lizzie doesn’t take compliments very well, Will knows this for certain, but he sees the _thank you_ in her expression, feels it in the way she raises to her knees to join him, her mouth slicking over his as her palms frame his face. 

They move together until she’s on her back again, her knees parting to adjust to the width of his waist. When he settles against her, something catches in his throat, a moan tangled around the syllables of her name. They’re embarrassing, the noises he starts to make when her hips rock against his, and he pulls his mouth away from hers, buries it in the crook of her neck. He breathes, and keeps breathing as she moves her hips against his and he’s not even inside her, but the feel of her pressed up against him, all skin and heat makes him dizzy. He presses his eyes closed, sinks his teeth into the skin of her shoulder, just as she rocks against him again. She moans, loud and desperate, and he does it again, his tongue darting out to smooth the slight indentations left in their wake. 

He makes his way down her body, pushing up his shirt as he goes, counting ribs, fingers tracing the perfect curves of her breasts. Will treats removing her underwear like the gift that it is, sliding the cotton down her legs with delicacy, allowing his teeth and tongue to trace and mark the bones and skin along the way. Her breath hitches, fingers tightening in his hair as he presses a kiss to one thigh and then another. She pulls at his shoulders, moves restlessly until he’s close enough to kiss her again. When his mouth meets hers again, their kiss is slow but every bit as brutal as the ones that came before it. He teases her with his fingers, slips one, then two inside her, curling and opening her wide. 

Will wants to take his time, make this last. But Lizzie starts jerking her hips against his hand, starts whimpering his name – Will _not_ Darcy and that in and of itself is the beginning of the end for him – and all he can think about, the only rational and coherent thought flowing through his mind is that there will be plenty of time for slow later. 

Because there will be a later and, yeah, he’s already making plans. It’s who he is. 

He is so caught up in her that he doesn’t know what’s happening until it’s over, until he’s flat on his back and she’s above him, collecting the hem of her – _his_ – shirt and pulling it over her head. 

Lizzie tosses it to the side, and his attention wanes just a little, his hands leaving the warmth between her legs to reach up and cup her breasts. Lizzie’s back bends, body arching into his touch, and his throat goes dry. He covers one with his mouth and the other with his hand. 

Somehow, he manages to mumble, “I wanted to do that.” There is a flash of smile before she reaches for him, catching his jaw just as her head starts to dip towards his. Her hair falls in a curtain around their faces and she smells faintly like pomegranate and sweat. It’s intoxicating. He breathes her in. 

“You were taking too long,” Lizzie says, just before she kisses him, and suddenly she’s everywhere, and it’s overwhelming – so much so that he almost finds it hard to breathe. Will kisses her through the uncertainty. “You’re not going to make us stop again, are you?” she teases. 

Will’s laughter catches in his throat. “I’m not that much of an idiot.” 

“ _Good_.”

Her hands are steady as they push at the waistband of his underwear, shoving them down, and moving her body out of the way until he is able to kick them off with his feet. Will’s hands shake, just slightly, as they reach for her, hands tight at her waist to drag her hips back and when her fingers wrap around him with slight, but deafening pressure, he makes the most unintelligible and embarrassing sound he’s ever witnessed. 

Grinning, Lizzie merely pulls her mouth away from his to lean back, to reach for the tiny purse she left on his beside table last night. He doesn’t realize what she’s doing until he sees the foil packet in her hands, until he’s watching in appreciation as she rips it open with her teeth. It is probably one of the sexiest things he has ever witnessed. 

When she catches him staring, her neck flushes red. 

“You came prepared.” 

Her back straightens defensively. There is a joke, an accusation to made, he’s sure, and he almost prepares himself for whatever tirade he didn’t mean to inspire because while they’re better at certain things now, she still hasn’t perfected the art of deciphering when he’s being accusatory and merely observing. He’s relieved when she grins shyly instead. 

“I’m _modern_ ,”she remarks, and kisses him again with her knees pressed against his sides and her fingers sliding on the condom with slick efficiency. The kiss is all tongue, teeth, and bite. It’s probably the best kiss of his life – it is definitely the sexiest – and he drags it out, keeps going back in for more, taking all that she’s willing to give him and then some. 

It’s only when she’s guiding him into her that her hands start to shake. He’s not even all the way in when all the air leaves him a giant whoosh. He grits his teeth, counts to ten, tries not to get caught up in how tight and warm she is. How the way she’s watching him makes his brain flicker off completely. He watches her – the way she bites the inside of her cheek, the way her mouth turns – and everything goes to white noise and haze. Will reaches for her, palm flattening against her cheek as his thumb traces the corner of her pretty mouth. 

“You’re incredible,” he tells her. 

Her _so are you_ hits him square in the stomach, and before he can talk himself out of it, he wraps his arms tightly around her, rolling them to the side. She gasps softly as he settles on top of her and between her legs again, sinking into her as her legs slide along his waist. He needs the control, knows that if he allows her to take the lead this time it will all be over embarrassingly fast. 

Will wants slow, he wants to remember this, to feel everything, every inch of her. 

But when their hips start to move it is anything but graceful. It’s quick, needy, desperate. There is no agreement of movement, no precision, no plan. They just move and keep moving, and kissing through it all. When Lizzie starts to come, she arches into him, says his name, the _Will_ strangled, barely decipherable amongst the sounds she’s making. 

He catches it easily, and it does him in. 

 

 

 

It would be easy, he knows, to say the words. 

They’ve been stuck, caught at the back of his throat for months – even when he didn’t have a right, even when he was sure she could never, would never feel the same. 

Will almost allows them to slip after, when his vision is still blurred around the edges and she’s trying to steady her breathing. 

But then she kisses him, slow and lazy, and he forgets. 

It’s probably for the best, he thinks, and waits until she’s ready. 

 

 

 

Later, Lizzie wakes first, shifts into him until he’s blinking himself awake against the too-bright sun. 

Already, there is a familiarity in the way she kisses him, her _good morning_ quiet as her mouth claims his. 

On the bedside table, his phone vibrates violently. It’s Gigi, he knows, because it’s Saturday and too early for it to be work. She’s calling to check in, to make sure they made it back last night. Will appreciates the sentiment, but it serves as an unwelcome reminder that there is a whole world outside this room he isn’t ready to face yet. He reaches over, clicks ignore, and smiles when he catches Lizzie watching him. 

“I think I could eat now,” she says, grinning. His stomach rumbles on cue. 

Reaching for her, his knuckles brush her jaw, and when he leans in to kiss her again she meets him halfway.


End file.
